


My True Love Gave to Me [A Mystrade One Shot]

by BBCSherlocks



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes - fandom, Sherlock TV
Genre: 221B Baker Street, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Baker Street, Christmas Eve, Greg Lestrade - Freeform, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Lauriston Gardens, Lestrade x Mycroft, M/M, Mycroft Holmes - Freeform, Mycroft and Lestrade - Freeform, Mycroft x Lestrade, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Christmas, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock TV - Freeform, Sherlock TV Show, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBCSherlocks/pseuds/BBCSherlocks





	My True Love Gave to Me [A Mystrade One Shot]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldmanrogers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmanrogers/gifts).



 

  
  


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For @oldmanrogers

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**My True Love Gave to Me [A Mystrade One Shot]**

**Christmas Eve**

**Baker Street**

Lestrade ran up the steps and burst through the door. The room went quiet and everyone turned to stare at him. It took Greg a few embarrassing seconds to catch his breath before he said, “Sherlock. Murder.”

Sherlock got to his feet and set his cup of eggnog on the table. “Where?”

Mycroft, who was sitting in the corner of the room, got to his feet. Greg hadn't noticed him there and probably wouldn't have made such a scene if he did. He had always been intimidated by Mycroft—he was part of the British Government after all. Who wouldn't feel intimidated?

“Lauriston Gardens,” Lestrade says, turning back to Sherlock who raises his eyebrows. 

“Again?”

He nodded. “Let's go,” he turned and ran back down the stairs. He could hear Sherlock mumble something about making a scene and on Christmas Eve.

Greg waited outside of his car for Sherlock, and was surprised to see Mycroft open the door instead. Sherlock was close behind, followed my John.

Lestrade sighed, shaking his head. Talk about making a scene.

“You go with Lestrade,” Sherlock said to Mycroft, “John and I will take a cab and follow you.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest but Sherlock walked away before he could. A taxi slowly drove by and Sherlock signaled for him to pull up to the curb.

Mycroft and Lestrade got into his car, neither of them pointing ow to John and Sherlock that there was room for both of them because they were sitting in the front seats.

They didn't talk much on the way there. Lestrade tried making small talk, but Mycroft was mostly silent. He'd nod here and there or give the briefest of answers, but wasn't interested in carrying on a conversation.

When they got there, Mycroft got out of the car before Lestrade had put it in park. They met John and Sherlock on the sidewalk and Lestrade was the one to lead the way inside. He'd been in here before, the first time he met John, not knowing he'd be sticking around from that moment on.

“Where?” Sherlock asked.

Lestrade pointed to the kitchen and waited in the doorway to give him space.

Mycroft followed Sherlock though, crouching down next to him to examine the body that was laying by the rotting table.

They whisper to each other then nod and turn back to John and Lestrade who were patiently waiting by the kitchen door.

“Alcohol poisoning,” Sherlock said, pulling the boy's phone out of his coat pocket and typing in a passcode. Lestrade learned by now not to ask how Sherlock knows something—how do you know the passcode? How do you know it was alcohol poisoning? How do you know how old he is just by looking at him and she size of his shoes?

“A little too much spiked eggnog if you ask me,” Sherlock continued, sending a text before tossing the phone to Lestrade for evidence. “I sent a text to his mother to let her know where he is, and to the group of friends that dropped him off here—before you ask, they were in a group chat together and apparently Kevin—” Sherlock pointed to the boy laying on the kitchen floor behind him, “—stays here when he's too drunk to go home. They're horrible friends really, and I told them so. Now, if you don't mind I'd like to get back to my Christmas party.” He nodded for John to follow him and he did.

_ Just like a lost dog. _ Mycroft thought as they walked away.

When they opened the door it was snowing and Mycroft opened his umbrella.

Lestrade followed, pulling up the collar of his jacket and hurrying to his car.

“Detective Lestrade,” Mycroft said before he had a chance to unlock the door.

Lestrade turned to Mycroft who was taking his merry time, hardly bothered by the snow and drastic drop in temperature.

“Would you like to take a walk?” Mycroft asked. He didn't want to go back to Baker Street yet around all of those other people. It was too warm and loud in there. And he wasn't ready to go home and spend rest of the night alone in his room.

Lestrade paused at his car, his hand halfway to the door, hovering in the bitter cold air. Then he nodded and walked back over, stepping up onto the sidewalk and started walking with Mycroft.

Mycroft moved the umbrella to the side so it covered both of them. They walked down the sidewalk and silently watched the snow swirl around them.

When Mycroft moved his arm over and linked elbows with Lestrade, he didn't say anything. The corners of his mouth turned up a little, letting him know that it was okay.

When they walked around the block and got back to the car, Lestrade was hesitant to pull away. He didn't want the moment to be over. He didn't want it to be awkward if he put any space between them and were forced to face reality.

But when Mycroft pulled away and got into the car, he didn't say a word. Lestrade walked around the other side and got in, starting the car and turning on the heat. He waited a few minutes, holding his hands in front of the vents to warm them, before putting the car in reverse.

Before he backed away from the curb, Mycroft rested his hand on top of Lestrade's. He told himself that it was to help warm his hands, but they both knew better than that.

When Lestrade leaned into him, Mycroft lost all control and self restrain.

In that moment, they weren't paying attention to who leaned in first, or whose hand was on the back of whose neck or what hand was on what face. All they paid attention to were their lips pressed together, and the taste of gingerbread on Mycroft's lips.

When they pulled back reluctantly, both out of breath, Mycroft said, “We can go back home. I'll have the fireplace going and music on.”

Lestrade liked how he said “go back home,” like it was their home. Together. He nodded, and backed the car away from the curb.

 


End file.
